


(we need you) wide awake

by burglarbilbo



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Au of sorts, Flashbacks, Gen, Therapy, georgia gets a therapy dog
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:20:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25129168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burglarbilbo/pseuds/burglarbilbo
Summary: georgia heals, as best as she can.
Relationships: Georgia Madchen & Peter Bernadone, Will Graham & Georgia Madchen, Will Graham & Peter Bernardone
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	(we need you) wide awake

Will gets a letter from Georgia Madchen every week. He tries to remind himself to respond to her the same day he gets her letter, but more often than not, he remembers every other week. When he apologizes for it, Georgia writes that he should come visit her instead — he pictures her writing it with a smile, perhaps a small laugh.

That’s a good idea, he thinks. So he inquires with Georgia where it would be best to visit her, the institution she stays at three nights a week for her electro-convulsive therapy, or her apartment. She writes that her apartment would be better, she is eager to cook for him and have some company. Will agrees to come for lunch next Wednesday, which he requests off from Jack just after he drops her letter in the mailbox.

Georgia’s apartment is small, but has all the touches to make it feel cozy. Paintings of flowers and fruit decorate her foyer wall and the walls of her small kitchen, books litter her coffee table and window nook. Will feels like there should be a small cat or dog napping somewhere.

“I’m not sure I could handle taking care of a pet right now,” Georgia says. She stands at the stove, stirring something in a pot that smells like ginger. The sweater she wears is blue, embroidered with yellow flowers and Will wonders if Georgia did the embroidery herself.

“You look well,” Will says.

Georgia smiles and it’s true, she does look well; her skin has returned to its gentle pink glow, her eyes are bright and blue, and her arm is nearly fully healed. The skin graft that doctors did is almost seamlessly blending in, with just thin pale scars where it attaches to the rest of her arm.

“Thank you,” she says. “Would you like some chicken soup?”

Will smiles. “I would love some.”

Georgia apologizes that she didn’t make more, but Will stops her. “This is delicious, I assure you.”

“I’m working on new recipes every week. My therapist gave me a cookbook to encourage a new hobby. I’m on the soups section right now,” Georgia says, smiling sheepishly.

“Well, I think you’re off to a good start.”

They play a few games of cards, then Will leaves before it gets dark. Georgia hugs him gingerly as she walks him out of her building to his car. “I’ll write to you,” she says.

“I’ll write you back. Faster this time too,” Will smiles.

His dogs are eager to see him when he gets back to his house. Will hadn’t realized he’d left his phone on his kitchen table before he left, but with four voicemails and seven texts from Jack, he knows he made a mistake. The next morning, Will makes a call to the mental institution that Peter Bernardone is staying at.

“Hello Peter,” Will says, but just as he expected, Peter doesn’t look up. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, cradling something small in his arms, close to his chest.

“H-hello,” Peter says.

The orderly leading Will in closes the door quietly behind him, motioning to tell him that he’ll be just outside. Will looks around, taking in Peter’s room. It’s more a room than a cell, and for that Will is grateful; there’s enough space for Peter to have a desk, a couple chairs, his bed of course, a wardrobe, and a tall standing birdcage near the window. There’s bars on the outside of the glass, but it still provides a decent view of the park across the street and the courtyard below.

“Peter, I have some photographs to show you,” Will says. He pulls up the small wooden chair and sits next to Peter, pulling the case file out of his jacket.

“What… kind of pictures?” Peter says.

Will is able to see that the item he’s cradling to his chest is a little grey and white rat, just smaller than his hand.

“From a case. I need to know if these markings were from an animal or… not,” Will says.

As Will goes through the motions, he wishes he were there on a social visit rather than a business one. Peter answers all the questions he asks — the markings were from a bear and an animal that Peter can’t recognize — and once that is over, Will knows he should get back to the BSU, he has a case he’s working on, after all, but he decides to stay.

The bird in its cage tweets as a cloud passes over the sun, masking the room in a temporary state of grey. Will stands, putting away the file, and walks over to the cage, looks at the little bird in it.

“This seems like a nice facility you’re staying at,” Will says. It’s much warmer than the one he was previously at and Will is grateful that they allow animals in this facility.

“Her name is Molly,” Peter says. He gestures lightly to his bird, a small green little thing with a red spot on her head and a wide curved beak.

“Molly,” Will repeats.

“D-don’t stick your fingers through. She, uh, she likes to bite,” Peter says, standing from his bed. Will pulls his fingers back, smiling.

“Sorry,” he whispers to the bird.

“Molly was, uh, my social worker’s. Daisy,” Peter says. “She got a cat, and— and thought I would take better care of her.”

“She sounds nice,” Will says. “It’s good to see Kevin again.” He gestures to the rat Peter is still holding.

Peter smiles at that, laughs a little bit. He gives Kevin a small kiss on the crown of his head. “Y-you remember him.”

“Of course I do.”

On his way out, Will runs into Peter’s social worker. She’s a tall woman, short dark hair half up in a ponytail. She wears wide-rimmed glasses and a deep blue paisley suit; in another life, Will muses, she could be somehow related to Hannibal.

Will introduces himself. Daisy shakes his hand with a smile.

“Daisy Malcolm,” she says.

“Peter speaks highly of you,” Will says. Daisy laughs at that, not in any malicious way, but in the way that someone does when they know something doesn’t quite mean what it’s intended to mean.

“He speaks highly of my bird,” Daisy says. “May I ask why you were visiting?”

“I needed his consult on some case files.”

Daisy nods. “I would prefer that next time you need a consultation, I am present with Peter for it.”

“Of course, won’t happen again,” Will says.

“Nothing against you, Mr. Graham, I assure you,” Daisy says, adjusting her glasses.

“I understand.”

“I just need to make sure Peter doesn’t… backslide. He’s come a long way, his physical and speech therapists say he’s doing better than they could have predicted.”

Will smiles. “Would it be alright if… I visited socially?”

“Sure.” Daisy hands him her card with a smile and disappears around the corner to Peter’s room.

Georgia washes her plate, puts away the leftover pasta, and gets ready for bed. Her apartment isn’t large, but at night it seems a lot bigger. She turns off her lamps and the darkness from outside seeps in, her living room disappearing into it. She walks the automatic fifteen steps to her bathroom, brushes her teeth, puts her prescribed ointment onto her arm, and crosses through the darkness to her bed.

It’s cozy, soft and fluffy; makes her feel safe. Georgia closes her eyes with a deep breath and hopes she doesn’t dream.

She opens her eyes to a familiar house, she’s sitting at a kitchen table, sunlight streaming through the windows to her left. The table and chairs are a matching dark mahogany wood, and the person across from her is laughing.

It’s Beth. They’re having breakfast together before they go to school. Vegetarian omelets and orange juice, like Beth’s mom always made. Georgia smiles at Beth, not sure why she’s laughing, but finding it infectious anyway.

Beth continues laughing, throwing her head back and leaning back on her chair, hand clutching her chest. But as she’s laughing, Georgia realizes something is wrong.

Her voice gets louder and louder until Georgia has to cover her ears. Beth’s head continues tilting back and Georgia knows it isn’t right. The noise stops but Beth doesn’t look back up. Her head is bend up at a 90 degree angle, staring up at the ceiling.

“Beth?” Georgia says, voice small.

“Yes?” Beth faces her now, her face carved hideously into some warped version of a smile. Her head is wavering, nearly decapitated at her jaw and Georgia can’t stop from screaming.

_“No! No no no!”_

She wakes up barely able to breathe, covered in sweat, shaking. She keeps her bedside lamp on for the rest of the night.

Will tries his hand at baking a pie for his next meeting with Peter and Daisy. Beverly sends him her recipe for peach and pear and aside from losing some filling to Winston and his other dogs, the baking goes well.

This time, the three of them meet up in the mess hall of the facility. It looks less like an institution mess hall and more like a bistro cafe, Will thinks. It’s good, he knows, but unexpected. Daisy waves him over to a table by a window, where she’s sitting with Peter who’s still cradling Kevin in his lap.

“Hello Will,” Daisy says.

“Hi,” Peter says.

“Hello all. I’ve brought some peach and pear pie to share. Homemade.”

They eat the pie out of the dish, Peter gives Kevin little pieces from his finger to munch on and even the rat seems to enjoy it.

“I’m glad Kevin likes it,” Will comments.

Daisy laughs.

“He’s not a… a picky eater,” Peter says.

“Kevin’s right, this is delicious, Will,” Daisy says. “You’ll have to send me the recipe.”

Peter tells Will what Molly has been up to since he last visited — “she likes t-to sing along to music I play” — and Will updates Peter on his dogs — “Winston has taken to trying to help me cook. He actually helped me bake this pie.” Peter laughs at that, it’s the first genuine laugh Will has gotten out of him. Daisy looks at him and smiles.

_Ever thought about getting an animal?_ Will writes. _Not just for company, but a therapy animal of some sort. It could help you cope better and make you feel less alone._

Georgia writes back later than Will expected, a week and a half, but the case Jack has him working on keeps him busy and prevents him from worrying about her too much.

 _I don’t think I’m ready for an animal yet,_ Georgia writes. _I want to focus on my relationship with my mother. I haven’t seen her in a few months, since before… everything happened. I want to repair what is broken._

Buster sits on his lap as he reads Georgia’s letter again. Will can’t help but think about Hannibal. He can’t repair that, but he hopes that Georgia can reassemble hers and her mother’s metaphorical teacup. Will pets Buster’s head and puts down Georgia’s letter. They have plans to meet up for brunch in a few days and he decides it’s better to wait until after they meet up for him to write back. The letter won’t get to her in time if he writes back now, Will tells himself.

Georgia has been crying when she answers the door to Will on Wednesday for their brunch. Tear streaks run down her cheeks and her eyes are red.

“Hi Will,” she says, doing her best to smile.

“Georgia, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, I… I’m fine,” she says. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. You hungry?”

“Always. It smells amazing in here.”

Georgia’s made eggs benedict and a brioche French toast and it’s the best thing Will’s eaten in weeks. Georgia cheers up as she and Will eat, she laughs as he tells her about Peter and his little rat. Will washes up their dishes against Georgia’s insistence once they’re finished with the food.

“Georgia, that was delicious, this is the least I could do,” he says.

“Thanks. I really do appreciate it.”

“So… can I ask why you were upset earlier?” Will says, quietly.

“Oh,” Georgia says. _“That.”_

Will sits back down at the table, drying his hands. Georgia takes a long sip of her orange juice.

“I went to see… I tried to see my mother. She wouldn’t see me, not at our house, not at a restaurant, she even stopped taking my calls. Before that, she told me she couldn’t handle having a daughter who’s… who’s like me.” Georgia lets out a deep breath, giving Will a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, now filling with tears.

“Georgia…”

“I wanted to say I was sorry, to explain everything. But she just shut me out.”

“I’m so sorry, Georgia.” It’s all Will can really say; he wants to reach out and touch her, but he knows she has boundaries. She runs a hand through her hair and takes a few more deep breaths, willing her tears away.

“Do you… know why I’m here, and not in a mental institution? Or… prison,” Georgia says, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I read that the charges were dropped.”

Georgia nods. “Beth’s mom… she visited me in the hospital. After everything I did… that woman forgave me. She said it wasn’t my fault.”

“Everyone… processes trauma differently. I’m happy about Beth’s mother,” Will says. “I’ve… tried to — to ‘parent’ victims before and it doesn’t always turn out the way we want it.”

Georgia looks at him, knitting her eyebrows together. “Is… that all I am to you, Will? A victim?”

Will shakes his head. “No, Georgia. Not at all. You’re a friend.”

Georgia smiles.

Another nightmare wakes Georgia with a jolt. She rushes to her bathroom, flipping the light switch on in a hurry to make sure she’s still here. Standing at her sink, Georgia stares down at her shaky hands — free of blood, blue veins showing through her pink skin — she’s here, in Baltimore, Maryland, and she’s alive.

She stares at her reflection in the mirror, taking deep breath after deep breath, just doing her best to calm herself down. The little digital clock on the center of the sink reads _2:47 AM._

“Okay,” Georgia says quietly. “It’s 2:47, I’m in Baltimore, Maryland, and my name is Georgia Madchen. I am alive.” She says it all with practiced ease; it’s her daily mantra even without nightmares.

Flashes of blood splatters still cloud her mind when she closes her eyes.

Georgia stays up for the rest of the night, in her living room, lights on, her laptop resting on her knees. She searches up therapy dogs on google.

Will gets his letter from Georgia on a Monday as usual. He reads it over his breakfast coffee before heading to the BSU. She asks if their next meet up can be at his house and can she pet his dogs? Will smiles. Maybe his comment about getting a therapy dog did get through to her.

He doesn’t get home until late, predictably, but as tired as Will is, he still sits down at his desk — moving his unfinished lures out of the way carefully — to write Georgia back. Will writes that she can come over on Wednesday. He slips in that one of his new dogs is a certified therapy dog, in case she was curious about that sort of thing.

Winston interrupts Will’s thoughts with a soft bark. The dogs are all sitting around the kitchen, with Buster and Ellie holding their empty dishes in their mouths. Winston looks at Will, cocking his head to one side.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry guys,” Will sighs. The rest of his letter can wait.

Georgia leaves her apartment a little earlier than she planned, bringing some homemade macaroni and cheese in a glass pan. She didn’t tell Will she was bringing food, but she figures it’s part of their routine to share a meal and this is a slightly new recipe she’s been waiting to try out.

Will is still tidying up his house when she arrives, so the dogs are the ones who come greet Georgia at the door.

“It’s unlocked!” Will hollers. Georgia lets herself in and, holding the food out of reach, leans down to pet each and every one on the head.

“Hi, everybody,” she says. “I’m Georgia.”

Will smiles at her as he comes over, putting down the broom he was holding. He takes the food from her with one hand and pulls her into a hug with his other. Georgia hugs him tightly, she hadn’t realized how much she missed contact like this with people. Will gives surprisingly good hugs, she thinks.

“Glad you could make it,” he says.

“Of course. It’s nice to finally see your house, since we’re usually at mine.”

“I see you still made food?”

Georgia smiles, feeling a slight blush rise to her cheeks and she ducks and pushes a lock of hair behind her ears. “It’s what we do.”

Will catches Georgia up on what he’s been doing at work, not specific details on the cases of course, but the profiles he’s helped build. He tells her about how Jack and Beverly are doing, how the rest of the team is, and then he mentions someone named Peter.

“Peter?” Georgia asks, taking a last bite of macaroni.

“I haven’t mentioned him before?” Will says.

Georgia shakes her head.

“Peter is a friend of mine. I actually think the two of you might get along, come to think of it. But that’s beside the point, I bring him up because he’s… made huge strides in his recovery by channeling some of his feelings and stress into taking care of his animals. Even if you don’t want to take Max as a therapy dog, I think caring for an animal could do you some good.”

Georgia nods. She looks over at Max, who’s sleeping under Will’s desk, a peaceful lump of black, white, and gold fur. He’s retriever mix of some kind, that much Georgia knows.

“Peter… is like me?” she asks, voice soft. Her heart beats in her chest loudly, and Georgia forces herself to meet Will’s eyes.

Will scrunches his eyebrows together, confused.

“What did he do?” Her voice comes to her stronger.

His eyebrows relax and he nods slightly. Will realizes what she’s asking. He sits up in his chair and leans forward on the table, resting his forearms and fidgeting with his fingers.

“Peter was a victim,” Will says slowly. He’s choosing his words very carefully. “He was manipulated by someone he trusted, his social worker. And he wasn’t… getting the care he needed to manage his mental illness.”

Georgia nods.

“Right now, he’s staying at an institution fit to care for him. He has a new social worker, and animals to care for,” Will says.

Georgia laces her fingers together in her lap and looks down at them, her hands; she half-expects them to be covered in blood, holding a knife or scissors or a piece of flesh. But they’re not. They’re clean and healthy, her skin soft, flowing over her bones and tendons gently.

“I… want to take Max, if you’ll let me,” she says, looking up at Will.

Will’s face softens into a smile. He nods. “Of course.”

For an hour, Georgia and Max spend quality time together. She takes him for a walk around Will’s property, around the woods behind his house. The weather is cooling off, leaves turning from green to orange and yellow and brown. Max is the most calm dog Georgia has been around. He stays right by her side, maybe half a pace ahead of her, and doesn’t bark at all. Whenever he looks up at her, his mouth open and tongue hanging out, Georgia swears he’s smiling.

“Hey, buddy,” she says. She crouches down to get on his level, taking his face in both her hands and ruffling his fur. His ears are soft and long and as Georgia is petting him, he leans in and licks her nose softly.

Georgia exclaims, surprised, and falls back on her bottom. Max steps to her side and continues licking her face. “No! Ew!” Georgia laughs. She turns away from him, vaguely aware of the dirt and leaves getting into her hair, but she continues laughing as Max plays with her.

Eventually, Max leads her to a little creek and the two of them sit by it, Max beside her resting his head in her lap. She pets his head gently, staring at the flowing water, leaves of different colors drifting through the cool air to land on the surface, drifting gently downriver.

Georgia looks down at Max, smiling at him softly. He lifts his head from where it rests on her knee and looks up at her, panting in a way that is unmistakably a smile. Georgia gives him a small kiss to the top of his head. This dog doesn’t care about her past, what she’s done, he doesn’t care about any of her wrongdoings, justified or not. He never knew her _before_ or even _during._ He only knows her now and only cares about her now; this is the only version of her that he’ll ever know.

An invisible weight is lifted off of Georgia’s shoulders and her chest feels lighter; she lets out a shaky breath and laughs, sharp and loud. It surprises her, the way it tears itself from her chest. She expects it to startle Max, but the dog just stays calm by her side.

The walk back to Will’s house isn’t long at all. Georgia spends it thinking about the logistics of having a canine companion; she’ll have to find someone to care for him the nights she spends at the hospital for her treatments, she’ll need to do research for different dog food brands, buy him a dog bed and toys…

“You’re back,” Will calls, from his porch. Winston is sleeping at his feet while he sits in his rocking chair, reading a book.

“The sun was starting to set,” Georgia says.

“How was it?” Will stands and lets Georgia inside.

She tucks her hands in her pockets and gives Will a small smile. “I think I’m going to need some help taking care of him,” she says, looking down at Max.

Georgia doesn’t need anyone to dog-sit for Max. As a certified therapy dog, he’s allowed to stay with her at the hospital when she has her ECT treatments. This hadn’t occurred to her, without the passing comment to the nurse who schedules her appointments, Georgia would still be trying to find a sitter. Though Georgia has never felt any fear before or after her appointments, it’s so comforting waking up to find Max sitting at her bedside, curled up in one of the plastic chairs.

He perks up as she blinks awake, the general anesthesia wearing off slowly. Georgia tries to reach out to him, but her limbs are still heavy. Max seems to know what she wants, however, as he jumps down from his chair up to her bed and lays at her feet. The room around her seems a little warmer than it has before. Georgia sighs, letting her eyes drift closed. She can get used to this.

The drive from her local hospital to the facility where Peter Bernadone is staying isn’t a long one. Georgia lets her GPS guide her there, luckily able to read Will’s smudged and sloppy handwriting to punch in the address. Max rides shotgun, lazily resting his head on the windowsill.

“Wanna listen to some music?” Georgia asks. Max perks up and looks at her.

“Me too.”

The first thing on the radio is country — _skip_ — and the next thing is evangelical gospel — _skip_ — and the next thing is a news radio show. Max makes a noise of discontent as Georgia rolls her eyes and shuts off the radio. At the next light she plugs in her phone and opens Spotify; her driving playlist will do just fine.

Though, she supposes, she’ll have to add some songs that Max is sure to like in the future. There’s gotta be something for everybody.

As she drives, Georgia is surprised at the growth of her anxiousness. In the days leading up to this meeting, she had stopped herself from googling Peter’s name in an effort to avoid building a picture of him in her head and forming unfair judgements. Her psychiatrist encouraged her to go when she voiced her concerns, and as the arrival time on her GPS grows closer, Georgia feels some of her anxiety melt away.

Max offers a supportive whine.

“I know, I know,” Georgia says, taking a deep breath.

The facility is a lot nicer than Georgia expected; large but not imposing, surprisingly welcoming for a massive stone and brick structure. The sun radiates a low warmth down on her as she makes her way through a flowered path to the front doors. In the lobby — a wide, naturally lit space with plush chairs and still-life paintings on the walls — Will is chatting with a tall woman with dark hair. They stand as they see her and the woman offers her hand as well as a bright smile.

“You must be Georgia,” she says.

Georgia nods as she shakes her hand. The woman’s skin is soft, her hands moisturized but callused by manual work of some kind.

“I’m Daisy, Peter’s social worker. Will has told me about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, in a kind, light voice.

“Good to meet you too,” Georgia says. “Hello, Will.”

Will smiles. “Hello, Georgia.”

Peter is out in the courtyard, at the far side of it, sitting on a bench next to a small koi pond. The birch trees surrounding the pond provide partial shade and Max leads Georgia right to them, lying down in front of the bench next to Peter’s feet.

Georgia sits on the opposite side, leaving a space in between them. He’s a lot smaller than she thought he would be, unruly dark hair sticking up in places.

“Hello,” she says.

“You must be Ge-Georgia,” Peter says. He doesn’t look up from whatever is in his arms. It takes a moment for her to realize that what he’s cradling is a small grey and white rat, feeding it little pieces of a green apple.

“And you’re Peter.”

Max looks up at him, eyes wide, tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth. He’s smiling.

“Who’s this?” Peter asks.

“This is Max. He’s my therapy dog.”

“He’s a mutt, ain’t he?”

Georgia nods. “He’s a good boy.” She smiles, fidgeting with her fingers in her lap. She glances behind them, at the other edge of the courtyard stand Will and Daisy, deep in conversation. Will told her he didn’t intend to make it seem like they were chaperoning her and Peter and so far he is staying true to his words.

Peter smiles at her and almost meets her gaze. “Th-this is Kevin.” He gestures to the rat in his arms.

“He seems polite.”

“Yeah. He, uh, he used to be my... little secret. Before I came here.” Peter gestures around them; _this facility,_ Georgia realizes. “I used to h-have to hide him.”

“They let you keep animals here?” Georgia asks.

Peter nods, shakily. “Yeah. I have Kevin, and a bird named Molly. She’s in my room.”

Georgia asks Peter more about his animals and as he continues on, he shifts so minutely toward her. Georgia doesn’t realize it but she does the same, their body language mimics each other. Part of her wonders how he perceives her in this moment, but the more they talk, however awkward it is, the more Georgia feels seen.

She’s felt seen by Will, even by her therapist, even one of the nurses at the hospital — the one who didn’t look at her like she was a psychological bomb waiting to go off — but sitting with Peter is different. She isn’t sure how to articulate it, quite, but something about him isn’t like any of her other friends. Georgia wonders if it’s because they’re both murderers, even though her therapist told her not to think of herself that way. She wonders if it’s because they both know what it’s like to take a life, and to move on with your own.

Leaves fall from the trees surrounding them, landing gently on the surface of the koi pond, drifting in the water. At her feet, Max dozes off. The sunlight shines down between tree branches and Georgia takes a deep breath. She knows she will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> originally wrote this as a commission for a mutual on tumblr and decided to post it here with their consent! i hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as i did writing <3


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